


a sea of poppies and a hundred goodbyes

by matsinko



Category: League of Legends
Genre: (there is a reason I promise), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But it goes back to the game universe in the last segment, Don't give up after the first segment, F/F, Feelings Punch, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsinko/pseuds/matsinko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time you meet her, she is a wave of brown and golden, the warmest person you have ever seen. It is her smile that stays with you the longest, with the years to come, and the countless of times you’ll be forced to say a goodbye.</p><p>Reincarnation fic. Cass-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sea of poppies and a hundred goodbyes

The first time you meet her, she is a wave of brown and golden, the warmest person you have ever seen. She smiles brightly when she hands you your drink and you need to elbow your sister next to you in order to stop her snickering.

Her eyes are bright like gemstones and that smile sticks to your mind like thistle on a wool sock.

(It is what it stays with you the longest, with the years to come.)

You have never been insecure, even quite the contrary, you get what you want with ease, yet when you slip her your number with the empty glass, your fingers tremble and it takes you a couple of seconds to make them stop.

She holds your gaze for a couple of seconds and it is what stays with you, haunts you late at night when your phone buzzes and you get a one-word text message,

 _Hi_.

Maybe it is the way her skin feels, soft like velvet under your palms. Maybe is it is the way her voice sounds when she calls your name, low and sensual. Maybe it is her curves or the passion in her eyes; green like the colour the ocean turns during a storm. She devours you whole, as a summer hurricane and you wonder how you’ve lived your life before her.

It happens fast, yet you’ve never been so _sure_. Weeks turn into months, and months turn into a second toothbrush in your bathroom, more clothes in your wardrobe and a lot of knowing smiles from your sister.

(As if she is the one to judge, you think, with a white-haired someone never leaving her side.)

“Kat,” you call out and you see a flash of red appear at your doorstep, “I am going to ask her to move in today.” You say simply. After all, it is not a question. It is a statement, the weird way you share with your sister (the only way you know how to). You tell her things and she nods, and that is all.

Katarina hums in something like an agreement.

“Who would have thought we are going to be a big family after all,” she states, more to herself it seems.

(Who would have?)

 

That evening you buy her flowers – orange poppies, wild and bright, just like her. You plan on going to the bar she works at, but you end up going in circles, again and again, until you feel ready. Your phone buzzes in your purse for the nth time but you ignore it. It can wait.

When you finally take the turn that leads to the bar, all you see is a clutter of people, running, crying. Police officers and lots of yellow band; journalists, and people taking photos. There are so _many_ you need to push hard to squeeze through. You heart beats loudly in your chest, _thud thud thud_ , as you cross the yellow band and run towards the bar.

You’re scared.

Someone catches you by the forearm and stops you, “’Mam you cannot be here.”

It’s a police officer.

“Is she okay? What happened?” you ask, confused, disoriented.

Suddenly, the eyes of the police officer seem to soften. He says you should follow him, he says he will take you there.

(There?)

 

“Are you Cassiopeia Du Couteau?” a man in a white coat asks and it makes your insides turn.

( _No, you shouldn’t be here._ )

( _This cannot be happening._ )

You nod.

“You are her only listed emergency contact. I am afraid we have no one else to speak to.”

( _She has no family._ )

You nod.

“She suffered excessive head injuries. We tried everything we could, but I am afraid there is no sign of brain function. I am so sorry.”

( _I can’t do this._ )

“I know this is difficult, but it’s up to you to decide weather we should keep her on life support or let her go.”

The doctor hands you some leaflets and says something about giving you some time, asks you if you want to see her. His speech briefly registers in your brain, white noise, unnecessary. She can’t be dead.

You stand there for hours, the poppies crumbled and broken in your fist. It hurts so much you can’t see straight. The leaflets lay untouched next to you, your phone rings what seems like every minute in your purse.

“Miss, is there someone we can call?” a nurse comes by and asks you, her voice so sickening, almost sugary sweet, you want to throw up.

You shake you head. _No_.

More minutes pass, or hours. You are not sure anymore. The nurse gives up on you, so does the doctor. They’re giving you space.

“Cass,” a familiar voice calls your name. It’s Talon. “I watched the news,” he says and sits next to you. “I called 14 hospitals before I found you.”

You look at him and shake your head. _She is gone_.

He doesn’t say anything; rather he takes the crumbled poppies from your hand and takes your palm in his.

He was never a man of many words yet his presence gives you strength.

You stay like this for what seems forever, until he speaks again, “You need to give her the flowers, Cass.”

You nod.

 

The doctor comes again. He wants an answer. Talon squeezes your hand. He knows. You know too.

And you do it. You do what you know it’s best.

You let her go.

(With poppies all around her.)

 

You hear a lot of ‘I’m sorry’s’, a lot of questions you cannot gather enough strength to understand, a lot of people touch you in that way they do when they try to console you – lightly, a pat on your upper arm.

You feel sick to your gut.

 

The next thing you’re lucid enough to remember is Katarina. Katarina saying your name. Katarina trying to get you out of bed.

But there is something that is missing.

That second toothbrush in your bathroom.

 

*

 

You’re nineteen when your mother passes away and your father moves you and your siblings to another city.

Good for the business, he says and you know damn right it isn’t true.

It’s around that time he stops showing his face at home and leaves you to take care of your siblings.

And so you do – you get up hours before the sun rises, and do your homework, cook breakfast, iron their school uniforms, prepare lunch for both of them and as you do, your heart never fails to fill with pain and regret.

You siblings are barely first grade, motherless, fatherless, in a new city, with no friends.

So you work harder, get up earlier and promise yourself to never leave their side.

 

It is during one of the first days of spring when you get Kat and Talon from school that he is crying, the hardest you’ve ever seen.

“Hey, what happened?” you caress his head and smile. He doesn’t seem hurt so it must be Kat again.

“He likes the new teacher so I told her!” Kat says sharply and sticks out her tongue.

You can’t hold your laughter, as you realize your little brother is crying because of embarrassment. It makes you wish you were a kid again.

“Talon,” you bend a bit so you take his little hands and look him in the eyes, “It’s okay if she knows. In fact, students must like their teachers! I’m sure she is flattered.”

“He can’t even pronounce her name!” Kat keeps teasing and you need to flash her a glare in order to make her shut up.

You know Talon has difficulties with pronouncing some of the letters and it makes you wonder if you made a mistake for not seeking help from a professional before he started school.

“Ooh,” you pat him lightly, “tell me, how is her name? I promise you I’ll help you pronounce it correctly.”

“S-sivil,” he stammers, trying to calm down.

“It’s Sivir!” Kat corrects and at that second, your heart stops, you freeze, as if you’ve just received a slap across the face.

It’s just a coincidence.

It’s just a coincidence.

_It’s just a coincidence._

On the way home, Kat is asking you questions, but the words seem to disappear as they leave her mouth. You nod blankly as your mind fills with nothing but brown, and orange, a hint of green, and a sea of poppies.

You avoid the school like the plague in the next four weeks and always wait for your siblings close to the front gates, just in case.

_It’s just a coincidence._

Kat and Talon mention the name Sivir a lot.

_It’s a coincidence._

She is the new junior teacher.

_It’s just a coincidence._

Her eyes are green like gemstones.

_It’s just a coincidence._

 

Your chest tightens in anticipation as you walk along the school corridors towards the teachers’ room. You need to know.

“Sivir is not here,” they tell you. “She is unwell,” they clarify. And all you get is a piece of paper with an address written on.

It takes you another two weeks until you decide to go. The address leads you to a hospital.

 

“Room 405,” the nurse says. “But you need to hurry,” she adds with worry on her face.

 

You run to her room as fast as you can, your heart stammering in your chest, and you manage to take a glimpse of her face, before the beeping sound makes you wish you were deaf instead, before they close the door in your face.

You manage to hold it exactly 5 seconds until you run to the bathroom and throw up.

 

Poppies.

There were no poppies on her bed this time.

 

*

 

You are right into your second year of elementary school when a new girl comes in.

Her hair is brown and shiny, and her smile lights the whole room. She sits next to you and tells you that you’re going to be the best of friends.

You can’t bring yourself to say a word and when the bell rings, you collect your things and run home as fast as possible.

 

There is urgency in the newscast the same evening. They speak about crime, and abduction, and-

You father turns off the TV and tells you to go to your room.

The next week you switch schools.

You never hear the name Sivir again.

 

*

 

It is your father’s 70th birthday that you allow to take a day off. You never have. You job has been you life and working is the only think you’ve known.

At dinner, no one speaks. Your family was happy once, you think, and try to push the thought away.

Talon’s married now and is the unhappiest you’ve ever seen him. Once, he used to read fantasy novels until early mornings and fuss when you made him eat his breakfast before school.

And Katarina, she used to be in love. You faintly remember the smile on her face when she brought that white-haired girl home, the way they looked at each other, they way they spoke about the future. She was the soldier girl that stole your sister’s heart and never came back. It’s been seven years now.

 

Just before you leave, you father gives you a folder.

“Please take care of that case for me, Cassiopeia.”

“Of course, father,” you reply curtly.

“It needs my best person,” he clarifies and kisses you on your forehead.

 

You’ve been the best in your field since you could remember. ‘The Snake’, they call you, as you’re merciless, graceful, persuasive, you almost never lose a case. You are the best lawyer the Du Couteau legal firm ever had.

But it is tonight, when you open the folder and you see that your client is guilty of a hit and run, that you roam through the pages and you see her name.

_Victim._

_Announced dead 2 hours after the accident._

_Broken pelvis, head trauma, multiple fractures, multiple internal injuries._

It is tonight that you use your connections and buy your first poison.

Because yes, your client is not going to go to jail.

He is going straight to his grave.

 

*

 

You’re 24 when you first meet her in your postgrad management classes.

She needs to take over her father’s company she explains and falls asleep in every class, without exception.

(She is so beautiful it hurts.)

You plan on transferring to another university, but when she kisses you one early morning and tells you she is sorry, she is so sorry, but you attracted her like a magnet and she doesn’t know how to stop this, you allow hope to creep up on you once more.

Maybe this time would be different, you think and you kiss her back with such fervor that it knocks the air out of both of you.

 

You’re 26 when your second year anniversary comes around.

And you’re happy, so happy you glow.

It’s her name on your phone screen when you pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’ve made a reservation at Oscar’s tonight. Don’t be late.”

(That is your favorite Thai restaurant.)

She laughs and you swear that is your most favorite sound in the world.

“You’re the one that is always late.”

“That is true,” she chuckles, “I’m leaving the office now. I’ll stop by the apartment to shower.” She makes a pause. “I’ll see you there.”

You want to see her so badly.

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Cass-“

“Mm?”

The only thing you hear next is screeching, so loud it makes your ear throb. Then there is a loud noise, and then the line breaks, there is nothing.

 

Her name is at the tip of your tongue. You want to scream it so loud that she hears you and comes back to you.

 

Her name is at the tip of your tongue, when you get into your car and drive to the nearest hospital.

 

Her name is at the tip of your tongue, but when you arrive, it’s too late.

 

*

 

You’re an angry person, your siblings say sometimes, cold and cunning.

Yes, you agree. ( _I am protecting myself_ , is what you never say out loud.)

Because it is on your sister’s 21st birthday party when your eyes meet _hers_ , and a flash of pain threatens to rip your chest open, that you promise yourself that you are not going love her, not any more.

But the alcohol hugs your insides like a dream and it makes your head swim with fantasies that you could never suppress. And it is her warmth that invites you in; it is the storm in her eyes and the suggestion in her gait. It is the way your name spills from her lips, in the most erotic way you can imagine. She sucks you in like a whirlwind and when she shares your bed this night, you pray if there is a God out there, he takes you first instead.

You wake up early in the morning (you can never sleep when you drink), and there she is, awake before you, smiling, real, beautiful.

_Don’t fall in love._

“Can I see you again?” She asks and blushes delicate pink, barely noticeable. It makes your heart jump.

_You’re too far gone._

You allow yourself to inch closer, taking the phone from her hands.

_Those eyes, they suck you in._

You type your number.

“I’ll call you,” she says, voice soft as velvet, “Cassiopeia.”

She never does.

Two weeks later, when your sister dresses all in black, you know whose funeral she is attending.

“Buy her poppies,” you find yourself whispering just as Katarina is walking out of the door.

 

*

 

It’s on Talon’s 23rd birthday that your father tells him that he is going to take over the company soon. That he is unwell, that he needs Talon to be the one to do so. He says that he has arranged a good wife for him, the daughter of the only empire bigger than Du Couteau.

And Talon, being Talon, the most loyal of your family, agrees.

The wedding date is set and he signs all the right documents.

You father tells you that Talon is going to remain in history. That he has made sure of it.

  
Everything moves faster than expected.

There is no time, your father tells you and it feels so rushed, so suspicious, it makes your insides turn unpleasantly.

Katarina and Talon seem okay with it so you force yourself to stay quiet. It is not your time to shine. It is Talon’s.

 

The first time you see _her_ is at Talon’s wedding, _dressed in white_. Your eyes meet somehow amongst the crowd and _suffocates_ you, right there on the spot.

This has been the lowest blow you’ve had so far. It hurts so much it rips you apart.

You ask to be excused and you go to the bathroom and it is the first time you cry; you cry so hard you feel like you’ll never be able to stop.

 

What makes you stop is a noise, loud and sudden. Shooting.

It shakes you to your bones, because deep down you _know_.

 

(Corruption.)

(Someone wanted to prevent the two empires of merging.)

 

Talon survives.

She does not.

 

*

 

You’re 27 year old and war is what you’ve known your whole life.

It keeps you alive, it makes you push through.

It is all politics, you father said once, and you smiled because you knew. Because you’re so good at it. Because your siblings might be the best in what they do, but you’re even better at arranging that everything goes to plan.

After your father disappears one night (and you know deep into your heart that he is not coming back), you are the one to take control of your family’s spy network. You are the one that swears to revenge, and to make your sister the leader of a crumbling political system before it destroys itself beyond repair.

Your siblings do not lose hope, they search for your father, day and night, and yet there is one thing that keeps you all together.

_Anger._

 

Her name comes up during a late night of going through documents.

Sivir.

Mercenary.

Target.

It’s for Katarina.

You crumble the sheet of paper into your fists, rage rumbling deep inside your chest. It’s the same pain, all over again; it washes over you like tidal wave, carrying all those emotions that you’ve been trying so hard to suppress.

When you go to bed, you dream of brown, and orange, a flash of green and a sea of poppies.

 

The next day, before the sun rises, you’re gone.

(You won’t let Katarina do it.)

(If it is someone, it should be you.)

 

When you see her face for the first time and her eyes linger on you a little longer, you try you tell yourself you got this.

When she learns your name, and it rolls off her tongue like a melody, you dig your fingers in your palms until you bleed.

When you hear her saying it in her sleep, you wish you could rip your heart out of your chest and walk away.

When you notice affection growing in her eyes like a wild fire, you walk away, you walk until your feet cannot carry you anymore.

 

It is Sivir that finds you, and when she says your name once more, you know that you’ve never hated yourself more than you do now.

 

The day you finally the reach the ruins and you find the tomb is the day you see poppies, growing in the desert against all odds, bright and orange.

(Against all odds.)

When the first of her men falls dead and you see the horror on her face, your heart falters.

(Against all odds)

 

“Sivir, careful!” is the last thing you manage to tell her, just before you push her away and take her place in the trap that was meant for her.

 

(You couldn’t do it.)

 

(Not when you saw them growing.)

 

(Against all odds.)

 

(Maybe she will, too.)

 

You wonder if the pain you feel now is the same pain she felt every time you lost her. It overwhelms you, sucks you in, and soon it’s only darkness.

You can hear her screaming your name, just before you let go.

 

 

(“You saved my life.”)

 

(“I never could.”)

 

(“Come back to me.”)

 

 

6 years later and whole 2 years after the rebellion you are sitting at a wedding, something in your whole countless of lives you wouldn’t have imagined happening.

Talon guides Katarina to the alter and you swear she turns into a little girl right in front of your eyes. Her hard edges soften and a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, her hands seem to tremble and she links them behind her back to steady.

Your heart fills with something you can’t exactly put into words – regret that you weren’t a part of her life as much as you would have wanted to? Or pride that your sister, Katarina Du Couteau, now the Grand General of Noxus, has grown into a strong, beautiful woman that has more courage than you would ever have.

In front of the tiny group of people in the backyard of your old house, Katarina and Riven exchange vows and swear forevers and as the woman next to you squeezes your hand softly, you are reminded for the thousandth time that _she_ is _here_ , alive and well, and you could feel her, catch the scent of her perfume, hear her voice and hold her and you know, you know that if this is your forever, if this your final beginning, that you’d want to spend it with _her_.

 

This time, Cassiopeia Du Couteau, you are 86 years old when she leaves you and you are finally ready to say goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, this has been a rollercoaster.
> 
> But I really got inspired by the reincarnation trope and I had to write my own version.
> 
> The story is with a modern setting, except for the last segment, which follows the original lore, except for the fact that (against all odds), Cass decides to save her and it is the thing it takes for her to live, and them two to be happy together.
> 
> PS: I am not a native speaker, so if you find any mistakes or things you don't like, the feedback will be happily welcomed!


End file.
